


Snowclone

by Jo (jmathieson)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (this one's in Montana), All The Tropes, Canadian Shack, Fury as matchmaker, Fury is done with all four of them, Get Together, Handcuffs, Humour, Jasper is a good bro, M/M, Nat is a good bro, Pining, Pretend Married, Sharing a Bed, Snowed In, Truth or Dare, UST, huddle for warmth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 08:24:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1421362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmathieson/pseuds/Jo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jasper and Nat are tired of Clint and Phil pining for each other, so they try to get the boys together. They fail, but Fury takes matters into his own hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowclone

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a break from the longfic I'm writing, so I thought I'd write something tropey and cracky and fun and short. Well, three out of four ain't bad. Apparently I'm incapable of writing anything short these days.
> 
> I was going to change the title to something more descriptive, but **allochthon** wanted me to keep it as 'Snowclone,' so I did. This is where the term [snowclone](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Snowclone) comes from.
> 
> Thanks a whole bunch to **featheredschist** for the beta, and all of **STCC** for the support and encouragement!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at: [Queen of Wands](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/)

Phil swam back to consciousness and blinked. His head felt fuzzy in a way that told him he'd been drugged, and the resulting surge of adrenaline had him doing a situational assessment immediately. He was cold. Naked. Lying on a floor next to... Lying on a floor facing Clint, who was similarly naked and... They were handcuffed together; their arms threaded through each others' and locked behind each others' backs in such a way that even Clint's extraordinary flexibility wouldn't help them get loose. 

'They, whoever they are, used rigid-bar handcuffs, too,' Phil thought as he explored the metal around his wrists as best he could with his fingertips. 'Just our luck we got abducted by professionals. Probably why they stripped us, too.' 

Phil listened carefully for a few heartbeats to see if he could get any clue as to where they were, and if their captors were anywhere nearby. All he could hear was the distant whirr of machinery. The room they were in was small, featureless, and he couldn't see a door from where he was lying. Naked in Clint's arms, his brain helpfully reminded him, and he shifted his hips back a couple of inches before his dick got any ideas about taking advantage of the fact that it was nestled next to Clint's. To Barton's, he corrected himself in his head. If he was going to be stuck in this situation, he desperately needed to keep things on a purely professional footing.

His movement woke Clint up. Woke Barton up, who came to with a start and then went perfectly still for a few seconds, his quick eyes darting all around the room and down their bodies before settling on Phil's face.

"Well, this one's new," he said. 

"Yes."

"Give me just a minute to..." Phil could feel Barton flexing one wrist and then twisting it in the handcuff. There was a quiet 'pop' and Clint grunted softly in pain, then his arms loosened around Phil's back.

"Okay," Phil said, "my turn."

"You don't have to, we can get loose now." There was concern in Clint's... in Barton's eyes for a moment and Phil stamped down hard on what seeing it made him feel.

"If we have to fight our way out of here, I don't want to do it with my hands shackled."

"Fair enough," Barton said, but his eyes slid away from Phil's face. Phil braced himself, wishing he had something to bite down on, and freed his left hand from the cuff. He extricated his arms from around Clint and flopped onto his back, breathing hard. Barton was on his feet, between Phil and the door to the room where they were being held.

Phil gave himself another few seconds to breathe, and tell himself sternly that Barton placing himself between Phil and the door was no more than he'd do for any other agent, any colleague, hell any civilian... But it still made him feel warm inside to see Clint automatically protecting him. 

"So, what does it look like?"

"Metal door, two deadbolt locks, hinges on the outside. We're not getting through it easily." Phil watched from his spot on the floor as Barton unselfconsciously strode around the room, checking the walls, floor, and ceiling. He caught himself appreciating the lean lines of strong muscle and watching the way Clint's... Barton's... fuck. Phil closed his eyes, took a last long breath, and then opened them again and hauled himself to his feet.

"So, what do we have?"

"Vent," said Clint, pointing up. Sure enough there was some sort of grille five feet above their heads. "Think you could give me a boost?"

It took them a little bit of discussion of logistics, but a few minutes later Clint had one foot balanced on Phil's thigh and the other on his shoulder. And Phil was very glad of the pain in his hand. It made an excellent distraction as he watched Clint clamber into the vent.

"Back in a jiffy, boss," he promised, and then disappeared from view.

A surprisingly short time later, Phil heard Barton's signature 'rat-a-tat' on the door of their prison, and then the door opened, and Clint handed him an orange plastic garbage bag.

"All I could find, sorry."

"It's fine, Barton thank you." Phil said, taking the bag and wrapping it around his waist like a towel. Barton, wearing the same outfit, led the way down a corridor.

"It's weird, boss. The place seems to be completely deserted."

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Let's find a phone."

They were searching what turned out to be an under-construction office building of some kind when they found a pile of their clothing and personal effects near the front door.

"Curiouser and curiouser," said Phil, as he checked his stuff cautiously. Clint was struggling into his jeans one-handed, not bothering with underwear, so Phil turned his back and flipped open his phone. A few short code phrases later he flipped it shut again and said to Clint,

"Backup'll be here in ten minutes. We're less than half-an-hour from base, apparently."

"Cool. I'll, uh, keep watch while you, uh..." Clint waved the hand without the cuff hanging from it towards Phil's pile of clothes.

~~~~~~

"Will one of you please explain to me why I have two agents in Medical with dislocated thumbs?" Nick Fury's eye glared and the two people sitting in front of him.

Jasper Sitwell looked at his hands. Natasha looked at Jasper.

"I told you it was a bad plan," she said.

"Okay, it wasn't the greatest plan, but Jesus, Sir, you don't have to see him every day, the way his eyes light up when Barton stops by to talk to him, the way he paces back and forth in the corridor, trying to stop himself from going to watch Barton train in the gym or shoot at the range..."

"And you've never been on the receiving end of one of Barton's drunken blubbering rants about how perfect Coulson is, and how he'd never stand a chance..."

Fury looked from Jasper to Nat and back to Jasper, annoyance and displeasure tracking across his features.

"And I suppose it never occurred to either one of you to actually talk to Agent Barton or Agent Coulson, to let them know, subtly of course, how the other one feels?"

Nat and Jasper achieved eye-rolls so simultaneous that Nick wondered for a second if they'd been practicing together for just this occasion.

"They don't listen," said Jasper, and Nat nodded in confirmation.

"Clint is convinced that Coulson could never be interested in a half-educated slob like himself," said Nat.

"And Phil is convinced that Barton could never be interested in his balding, middle-aged handler, when Barton himself is, as Phil has been known to say when three sheets to the wind, 'droolingly fuckable.' And having to listen to Phil mumble his way through those syllables when he's drunk is just about as painful as you'd expect, sir," said Jasper

Fury looked from Jasper to Natasha again, clearly still displeased. Nat raised an eyebrow. Jasper looked resigned. 

"Fucking amateurs, the both of you."

"I told him it was a bad plan," Nat said, looking very slightly contrite.

"Right, if we're going to do this, we're going to do it right. You two have until tomorrow at," Fury checked his computer, "3pm to come up with a better plan than 'handcuff them together naked and hope they see the light.' And it had better be a much, much better plan. Otherwise I'm knocking you both down a pay grade for gross incompetence. Now get out of my office."

~~~~~~

"We could arrange to send them on a road trip," said Jasper, who was pacing back and forth across his office.

"A road trip? What would that accomplish?" Nat was lounging on the sofa in Jasper's office, which was identical to, but somehow much less comfortable than the one in Coulson's. No wonder Barton spent so much time hanging out there...

"Road trips are romantic. The open highway, stuck sitting next to each other in a car, the petty bickering over whose turn it is to drive and who gets to pick the radio station. We could sabotage the air con, so that they'd get all sweaty."

"Ew. And Jasper, that's completely lame. Do you really want to go to Fury with 'stick them in a car with faulty air conditioning'?"

"Fine, you think of something better." Jasper leaned his hip against his desk and crossed his arms.

"I still don't see why we can't just get them drunk together," Nat said with a sigh.

"Have you ever seen Phil Coulson when he's had too many?"

"No."

"He is not an attractive drunk, believe me on this."

"Okay, here's what we take to Fury. We send one of them, Clint probably, on a solo mission, and he's reported killed in action. Then a few days later he turns up, not dead after all. Coulson's so relieved he's not really dead that he decides to make the most of the second chance he's been given to tell Clint how he really feels."

"Two problems with that scenario: first, there's no way Phil is going to believe Barton was killed in action on a mission unless he sees a body, which means he's going to insist on going in for the retrieval; and second, really? You're willing to put him through thinking that the man he loves is dead? That's psychological torture! 

"I suppose it is a little cruel. There's got to be something..."

"I've got it!" Jasper snapped his fingers. "We set something up so that they have to go undercover at a BDSM club, you know, with all the leather and the chains and the collars, and..." Jasper's face fell as he recognized the look Nat was giving him as one that sometimes preceded pointy objects moving rapidly towards his head. "What? Phil's pretty kinky! You should see his porn collection! And you can't tell me that Barton doesn't enjoy Phil telling him what to do. I mean sure there's all the snark and the insubordination on the surface, but that's just a cover so that no one knows what he really wants from his handler..." 

"Jasper Sitwell, your mind is a dark and disgusting place."

~~~~~~

"Sex pollen."

Jasper nodded, and looked at Nat, who inclined her head slightly in agreement.

"You two think that the best way to get Barton and Coulson together, thereby putting us all out of our collective misery, is to manufacture a sex pollen incident, and have them both affected."

"They're listed on each other's 478-K forms, so there's no problem. Lock them in a quarantine suite together and problem solved," said Nat. 

"The contents of agents' 478-K forms are supposed to be confidential, Agent Romanoff." The look Nat gave Fury was completely unrepentant.

"You think this will work?" Fury asked, looking from one to the other, yet again, dissatisfaction written plain on his face. Jasper nodded. Nat raised a curious eyebrow.

"If I know Phillip Coulson, and I do, let me tell you what will happen if we follow through on this... idea of yours." Fury sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "Under the influence of a powerful drug that lowers inhibitions and has aphrodisiac qualities, Agents Coulson and Barton may well have sex with each other. After which they will both act supremely professionally, since it was a work-related incident. In his own mind, Phil Coulson will write off anything that Barton said or did, any tenderness, any whispered confession as having been precipitated by the drug, and not indicative of his true feelings. They will both try their best to ignore that it ever happened, all the while being haunted by the memory that it did happen, making their situation with regards to the other even more untenable, and therefore even more of a pain in my ass!"

"Told you we should have gone with 'pretend married'," said Nat, looking at Jasper who was slumped dejectedly in his seat.

"Pretend married?" 

"An undercover assignment where they have to pose as a couple. Lovers, or ideally, actual legal partners. Two or three days of sharing a hotel room, a nice one with a single king-sized bed, while having to be open affectionate with each other in public... I thought it might do the trick, sir."

"You might be onto something there, Agent Romanoff. Write me up a scenario. Try to keep the costs and number of associated personnel down to a minimum. As much as I want this resolved, I'm not cutting too far into the discretionary budget just to facilitate Phil Coulson's sex life."

~~~~~~

"Uh, boss, could you - "

"Phil. You'd better get used to calling me Phil."

"Don't worry, I won't slip once we're down there... Phil." Barton looked a little hurt by Phil's words, and Phil started to turn away from him because he hated it when Barton looked like that, especially when it was because of something he'd said.

"Could you, um... help me with my tie, please, Phil?"

Phil turned back and took the purple silk tie out of Clint's... out of Barton's hands. 

"Nat, um... Nat usually does it for me when we're undercover or, y'know going to a funeral or something."

"She never taught you how?"

"She does it from the front, really fast. I, uh, tried, but..." Now Clint looked ashamed, and Phil liked that even less. "Turn and face the mirror," he said, and stood behind Clint.

"My father taught me how to do this when I was ten. I practiced for a month, until I could tie it perfectly." Phil put his arms around Clint and flipped his shirt collar up. Concentrating on the tie, the silk in his hands, and Clint's image in the mirror, smiling a little now, eyes full of trust.

"Start like this," Phil explained, showing Clint the different lengths of material to leave hanging, "Now this end goes around once, twice, like that, see? And then you bring it up through here, like this, and then thread it down between these two loops. Then you just snug it up like this, and straighten everything out a little, and you're done, see?" Phil smiled at Clint in the mirror, and Clint smiled back.

Phil desperately wanted to put his arms around Clint and hold him. Feel his arms wrapped around Clint's wide chest, nuzzle into the side of Clint's neck, right above the collar he'd just finished straightening. 'You could,' a treacherous little voice in the back of his head was saying. 'You could say something about getting in character for the mission, making sure that you're both comfortable with this kind of contact before heading out...' Phil dropped his arms and stepped back. He turned and snagged Clint's suit jacket from where it was hanging over the back of a chair.

"Ready to go?" he asked, handing him the jacket. Clint nodded.

After a quick comms check they headed down to the hotel ballroom where the fancy shindig was just getting started. It was a fundraiser hosted by the Governor of New Hampshire and their mark was also on the guest list. They mingled unobtrusively for a few minutes, accepting glasses of Champagne and looking around without being too obvious about it. The mission was simple and complicated at the same time. SHIELD had intel that the mark might be making backroom arms deals, possibly even selling to people who had links to HYDRA. But the intel wasn't very solid, yet, and SHIELD wanted to keep tabs on who, if anyone, he might be meeting or talking to at this party.

Phil had been surprised when Fury had proposed their cover as a married couple, but it made a certain amount of sense: The Governor was outspoken in her support for marriage equality, and the fact that no one at the party had ever seen them before would be less odd if they had an obvious press-friendly reason for being there. So they stood close together, whispered into each other's ears, and Phil put a hand on the small of Clint's back while they navigated the tables and groups of smiling, chatting guests, and Clint put a hand on Phil's arm when they stopped to survey the room.

Clint leaned in close and whispered.

"I've got our guy, he's at my three o'clock, talking to the woman with the blue hair in the orange dress." 

Phil smiled as if Clint had said something sweet, and stepped closer so that he could put his lips to Clint's ear.

"Good. Keep an eye on him - " Whatever else Phil was about to say got drowned out by the small band in the corner striking up and the guest of honor walking in with her husband. Everyone smiled and clapped, and then the Governor took a proffered microphone.

"I won't do my guests the disservice of making them listen to me talk on an empty stomach, so please, everyone, find your seats and enjoy the meal, I'll bore you over dessert."

Amid the good-natured laughter and controlled chaos that followed, Phil steered Clint to their table, conveniently the one next to the mark's. After introductions all around, a bright, bubbly middle-aged blonde woman sitting next to Phil started to bombard him with questions.

"So, we haven't seen you before at one of these things, give me the whole scoop!"

Phil spun their cover story about his position as Vice President of Strategic Planning and Analysis of the parts manufacturing company they both supposedly worked for. 

"We're bidding on a number of military contracts, so it always helps to show the flag at these sorts of things."

"And which flag, exactly would that be?" the woman asked with a pointed look at the matching wedding rings on Phil and Clint's fingers.

Phil laughed good-naturedly at the question. 

"I'll let the Governor do the actual flag waving, but let's just say that our CEO is an old and dear friend of mine, and many of us would like to see the company relocate its manufacturing operations to a state that doesn't require us by law to discriminate against our employees."

"Oh, politics are so dreary. Let's talk about something fun," the woman bubbled, leaning across Phil to speak to Clint, "Where did you two meet?"

Clint finished his bite of crab cake and wiped his lips with his napkin while he swallowed.

"We met at work, actually," he said with an engaging smile, and put one hand on Phil's shoulder to lean around him as he answered the lady's question.

"Oh, an office romance, how sweet! So were you the mail boy or his secretary?"

"Actually, Clint is one of our top security people. I do a lot of traveling for business, some of it to places that aren't very safe, so Clint would come with me. All those hours sitting next to each other on airplanes, sharing meals and hotel rooms - " 

"Getting shot at by Ugandan rebels," Clint interjected with a grin.

"Yes, the fact that he saved my life three times in as many years meant that, well, there was a bond there, so it wasn't all that surprising, really, when one day we, ah... fell for each other."

"You're making our office romance sound like some awful Stockholm Syndrome thing, Phil. Stop it. Besides, I only saved your life twice. The kidnappers in Lahore weren't necessarily going to kill you."

"Stockholm Syndrome is when people fall for their kidnappers, not for the guy who saved them," Phil corrected gently, with a fond smile. "You were my knight in shining armor." Phil was looking into Clint's eyes, and Clint's hand tightened a little on Phil's arm. They both were experienced at working undercover, and knew the easiest way to keep your stories straight was to stay as close to the truth as possible. Clint had saved Phil's life in Uganda and rescued him from, well, not kidnappers, but HYDRA operatives in Lahore. 

"Wow, that's an incredible story. So how long have you been married?"

"Six months," said Clint, covering Phil's left hand with his own and squeezing slightly. "We got hitched right after the law was changed."

"Now Barbara, stop quizzing those men on their personal lives." Barbara's husband, a portly man with a shock of grey hair, put his hand on her arm and spoke mildly.

"That's quite all right, we're used to getting a lot of questions." Phil smiled and Clint sat back in his chair and picked up his knife and fork to attack his crab cake again. Phil took a small sip of his wine to cover how keenly he felt the loss of Clint's warm hand on his, and asked Barbara's husband what business he was in.

The rest of the meal was uneventful, and Clint split his attention between Phil and his conversations with the other couples at their table, and their mark and his dinner companions at the next table. He also scanned the room as often as he could manage without making it look like he was expecting someone else to arrive. During dessert (a tiramisu that he knew would have had Phil groaning out loud in less polite company—the man loved his sweets), the Governor got up and made a thankfully short speech. Once Clint had finished his dessert and was sipping his coffee and half-listening to something about 'value-driven economic expansion,' whatever the hell that was, he sat back in his chair and rested one arm along the back of Phil's. 

It wasn't often that he had an excuse to touch Phil when one of them wasn't bleeding, and he was going to make the most of this opportunity. Which was probably a bad idea, he didn't really need to give his heart any more fodder for his late-night dreams and longings, but presented with a mission that required them to behave like a couple, well, Clint only had so much self-restraint. And was he imagining it, or was Phil leaning back into his arm a little? He was imagining it surely, and he would have shaken his head if he was alone, but here Phil would think the gesture was a signal of some sort.

The Governor made some final remarks, and the band started up again. The waiters appeared with more coffee and more wine, and two of the couples at their table got up and joined the Governor and her husband on the dance floor. Phil half-turned and leaned back, pressing his shoulder to Clint's chest and turning his head to speak near Clint's ear.

"If anything's going to happen, it will probably be now."

Clint nodded and smiled. Sure enough a couple of minutes later the mark got up from his table. But not to sneak off for a clandestine meeting, apparently. To lead his companion onto the dance floor. Clint sat up a little straighter to try to keep them in sight, and Phil straightened as well, breaking contact. Clint bit back a sigh. They were working. It was a mission. 'Quit trying to make it into something it's not,' he told himself.

The music changed from a slow swing number to a waltz.

"I'm having a bit of a hard time keeping him in sight from here. If he talks to someone on the far side of the dance floor, I won't necessarily see it," Clint said quietly.

Phil nodded. "We should go find a better vantage point. We can loiter somewhere close to the dance floor."

"Or we could, um... dance."

Phil turned to him, eyebrows raised. "You know how?"

"Yeah, Nat taught me, for that mission in Vienna a couple of years back. Uh, do you? I just assumed."

Instead of answering, Phil stood up and held out his hand. Clint took it with a grin and stood and let himself be led onto the dance floor.

"Do you mind if I lead?"

"You lead, I'll follow, anytime, anywhere," Clint said, smiling to make a joke out of the words that he meant with utter sincerity.

Phil spread his arms and Clint stepped into them, sliding his hand into Phil's outstretched left one and with a quick glance to the side to see what the woman nearest him was doing, rested the other one lightly on Phil's shoulder. Phil's right arm snaked around his waist, his palm pressing firmly into the small of Clint's back. Clint grinned at him, and Phil smiled back. They began to dance.

Clint hadn't been lying when he said Nat had taught him, the basics anyway, and a waltz was about as basic as you could get. In no time at all they were moving together as easily as they did when they were sparring in the gym or fighting back-to-back for their lives. It felt good, and safe, and right. Clint had to remind himself again that they were working, that it was a mission and that his job was to keep his eyes on the mark, not melt into Phil's warm embrace.

Phil obviously still had his mind on their target, because he was slowly maneuvering them closer to the man and his companion on the dance floor.

"So where did you learn to dance? Lessons as a kid or something?" Clint asked quietly to distract himself from the feel of Phil's warm body pressed up next to his.

"In the Army, actually," Phil said, and at Clint's surprised expression, he explained, "I was an officer, a lowly Second Lieutenant, but still, an officer. There were Regimental formal dances, full dress uniform and all that. We had lessons to make sure we didn't embarrass ourselves, or our dates."

"Your dates? Tell me more. What lovely ladies had the pleasure of dancing with a dashing young Second Lieutenant Phillip J. Coulson in his full dress uniform at a regimental ball?"

"I usually took one of my buddy's sisters. There was always someone whose sister desperately wanted to go, I got a lot of favors from the guys in my unit by taking them, and being a complete gentleman."

"I'm sure you did." 

Just then the waltz ended and the band swung into a slow instrumental version of Chances Are. Phil pulled Clint in close and tucked his head over Clint's shoulder. Clint wished he could be more surprised at how naturally his arms went around Phil's back, how his cheek pressed up against the side of Phil's face, how easily they moved together with tiny steps in a small circle.

"Have you got eyes on him?" Clint asked in a low whisper.

"Yes. He's right behind you."

Clint made the little humming noise that he often used on the comms to let Phil know he's heard and understood, and Phil's arms tightened around him a little in response. 

It felt so good, so right, that Clint almost forgot himself. He wanted to nuzzle and kiss the side of Phil's neck. He wanted to close his eyes and pretend, just for a minute, that this was real. That it was something he could have. But the small circle they were shuffling around in to the music brought the mark into view, and Clint saw him say something to his companion, and then start moving towards the edge of the dance floor.

"He's moving," Clint said into Phil's ear, "my ten o'clock, towards the side of the hall."

"We'll head back to our table and pick him up from there."

They broke apart and Phil grabbed Clint's hand and led them back towards their table. Halfway there he leaned back as if to say something in Clint's ear, and they turned and followed the mark through the side door and into a corridor. Just soon enough to see the mark and his companion disappear into a store-room.

"Keep an eye out," said Phil, moving to the door and taking a small listening device out of his inside jacket pocket. While Phil busied himself at the door, Clint stood with his back to Phil, shielding him from view and watching for trouble.

"Is there anyone else in there? Can you hear what they're saying?" Clint asked, leaning back and whispering out of the corner of his mouth.

"Ah... there doesn't seem to be anyone else there. They're ah... involved - " 

"Someone's coming," hissed Clint at his back and Phil just had time to stuff the listening device into his pants pocket as Clint spun him around and crowded him against the door. The next thing he knew there were soft warm lips on his, and one of Clint's hands in his hair. He could see both worry and apology on Clint's eyes, Phil's free hand came up reflexively around Clint's back, holding on and trying to reassure by rubbing with the ball of his thumb. Then his brain clicked into gear and he started kissing Clint back. He could hear the click-clack of high-heeled shoes approaching, and he got his hand out of his pants pocket and up around the back of Clint's neck, grasping gently. Clint made a small moaning sound in his chest that Phil barely heard, and he closed his eyes. 

For all that they appeared to be plastered up against each other in the doorway, Phil realized that Clint was keeping his hips as far back as he could. He was also keeping his mouth closed, and for an instant Phil considered changing that - swiping his tongue along Clint's lips in hopes that Clint would open to him, so that the could delve into that luscious mouth and taste... Phil pulled back and glanced around Clint's head, checking that the couple in the corridor were well past them. Clint opened his eyes.

"Sorry," he said, pulling his head back, but not taking his hand out of Phil's hair. "I couldn't think of anything else..."

"It's fine, Clint. You did the right thing"

"Okay. Good. Uh... yeah." Clint moved his hands, shoving them into his pockets and then stepping back to give Phil space. Phil was just about to open his mouth to suggest their next step when he heard a noise from the room behind him. He mouthed, 'follow my lead' at Clint and gave him a shove out into the middle of the corridor, stepping after him, and then yelling,

"I saw you looking at him, don't tell me you weren't!" 

"Babe, I wasn't. I swear it." 

"I'm getting old, and going bald, that's it, isn't it? You don't find me attractive any more, so you're looking elsewhere." Phil turned his back on Clint in a full-on pout.

"Phil, you know I'd never betray you like that. I love you." Clint stepped up to Phil's back and put his hands on Phil's upper arms.

"You're... you're not just saying that?"

"Of course not, Peaches. You're the only one for me, now and always, I promise." Clint's tone was cajoling and he leaned in to plant a kiss on Phil's temple just as the mark and his companion passed by.

"I'm sorry Bunny," Phil said, turning in Clint's hold and wrapping his arms around Clint's back. "I just get so jealous sometimes."

"You have nothing to be jealous of, ever." Clint said aloud, and then leaned in close and whispered, "What's out next move?"

"He's heading for the elevators, we should follow - we're on the same floor, so we'll know if he's going to his room."

"Got it."

"Come on Bunny, I'll make it up to you." Phil said aloud, and dragged Clint by the hand towards the elevators. They managed to catch the same car as the mark, and spent the 12-story trip pretending to be trying not to grope each other in public. Clint and Phil made a show of whispering into each other's ears and giggling as they headed to their room. When they got there, it was Phil's turn to push Clint up against the door and kiss him. Wetly. Filthily. With tongue. Clint's keen eyes stayed open to watch the mark disappear into his own room three doors down. Phil pulled away as he heard the door swing shut, and had their keycard in his hand a second later, and was stepping past Clint and into their room. Clint followed him in, stripped his jacket and tie off, ran his hand through his hair and tried to pull himself together. Tried to pretend that he wasn't affected by the fact that Phil had just been kissing him senseless.

Phil must have noticed that something was up, because he looked over from where he was carefully hanging up his own jacket and tie and asked,

"Are you okay? I'm sorry if I went too far."

"No, no, of course not. It was fine. You were great. Fine I mean, you were... it was..." Clint realized he was babbling and trailed off.

"Fine," supplied Phil with a hint of a grin. 

"Yeah."

"Look, Clint, please don't take this as anything but the compliment that it's intended to be, but if you don't mind, I'm going to go take a shower."

"Shower?"

"A cold one."

"Oh. Ah, right. Sure. No problem. Go right ahead. And, ah, save some of the... err... cold water for me."

~~~~~~

"Avoiding each other." Nick Fury looked from Natasha to Jasper and back again, his elbows resting on his desk and his fingers steepled in front of his chin. "You're telling me that after setting up an op that required them to pose as a married couple, sharing a room, and getting... amorous to maintain their cover in a hotel elevator, that they are now avoiding each other."

"Yes," said Nat. Jasper nodded.

"Why?"

"Remember what you said about why a sex pollen incident wouldn't work, that they'd be supremely professional after, because it was work-related?" Nat asked.

"They're both telling themselves that it was all for their cover - that anything the other one did was just... acting." Fury wasn't the director of a super-secret spy organization because he was slow on the uptake.

"Exactly," said Jasper. Nat nodded.

Nick Fury did something neither Nat nor Jasper had ever seen him do before. He lowered his forehead to the surface of his desk and banged it a couple of times.

"I'm beginning to see," he said when he had straightened up again, "why you thought handcuffing them together naked was a good idea. Okay, time to pull out the big guns. Here's what we're going to do..."

~~~~~~

Two weeks later Clint and Nat were sitting in Phil's office, being briefed for a mission in Northern Montana.

"...so it could just be a group of survivalist nut jobs, or it could be a HYDRA base, but we don't know which, and the best way to find out is to sneak in and look around?" Clint was lounging on Phil's sofa, his knees over one armrest, folding one of the documents from the briefing package into a paper airplane.

"That's about the size of it," Phil nodded.

"Sounds like fun," said Natasha.

"You have a twisted worldview, you know that?" Clint said. He made to throw the paper airplane at her but she looked daggers at him so he launched it at Phil instead. Phil's phone rang just as he let fly, and Clint watched as Phil batted the plane out of the air and reached for the phone with the same hand in one smooth motion. His heart did a flip in his chest. Competency was a thing for him, okay?

"Coulson here. I see. Yes. Just Montana. Well, I suppose so. Or we could..." Phil threw a glance at Clint, who was looking at him with raised eyebrows. "Barton and I could do it alone. Yes, of course. Yes, I'm sure. No. Yes, all right. I'll send her up. Okay. Right. Bye." Phil put the phone down and looked at Nat. "The situation in Kiev looks bad, Fury wants you over there."

"And Montana?"

"Clint and I will handle it."

"Okay, see you when I get back."

"Stay warm, Nat," Clint said with a grin.

"You too," she shot back over her shoulder as she left, "both of you."

~~~~~~

Clint and Phil were both shivering by the time they made it back to the rented SUV they'd parked three miles down the road from the suspected HYDRA base. Which had turned out to be a grow-op with better-than-average security. Not that the security had given them any trouble. Clint and Phil had slipped in just before dawn, past infra-red cameras, sleeping guards, and a badly-wired electric fence. They had done a quick but thorough tour of the facility, just to make sure nothing other than illegal agriculture was going on, and snuck quietly back out. The three-mile trudge back to the car had gotten considerably less fun when it started to snow, and then they had to spend twenty minutes digging the car out of the drift left by the snow plow that had passed by.

"Great, now I want to listen to Jimi Hendrix," said Clint tipping his head back against the seat rest and holding his hands out to the heater vent in the dashboard.

"Good luck picking up anything other than Waylon Jennings out here," Phil grinned at him, "but feel free to try."

Clint reached out to turn the radio on and waited while the set searched through static until it could pull in a station, "... major blizzard. Motorists should avoid travel if at all possible. Power outages are possible."

"Okay, that sounds bad."

"It doesn't look great either," said Phil, peering out through the windshield at the snow-covered highway.

"You're in four-wheel drive, right?"

"Yes, the car did it automatically ten miles back."

"Okay, well, we're not in any hurry, and there doesn't seem to be anyone else on this godforsaken bit of road so - " Clint swallowed whatever he was about to say as the car's engine gave a cough and died.

Phil turned the key and the starter motor whirred but the engine didn't catch. He did it again with the same disappointing result.

"Want me to get out and take a look?" Clint asked.

"Do you know anything about engines?"

"Not much, but I'll be able to tell if we've broken a belt or sprung a leak or something."

"I'll go. You get on the phone to base, let them know we're running late because of the weather."

"Sure thing." Clint pulled out his phone and switched it on. And waited while it searched for a signal. With less success than the car radio. He watched as the signal strength flickered back and forth between one bar and none, and then tried to dial anyway. No dice. 

He switched the car radio back on. At least they knew the problem wasn't with the battery. This time he hit the button for the weather service. The set of dire warnings about white-out conditions and wind speeds and wind-chill factors and snowfall accumulation were just starting to repeat when Phil climbed back into the car. He listened to the broadcast, and then tried the ignition key one more time.

"Well, we seem to be stuck here," said Phil.

"Without cell phone reception," said Clint.

"No signal at all?"

"None."

"Well, I guess we'll have to break out the big guns. According to that forecast, if we stay here we'll freeze to death, so," Phil was twisting around in his seat to reach for the big black duffle of gear in the back. 

"S'okay, I got it," Clint said. He slid his seat all the way back and snagged the bag, dragging it onto his lap. "Satellite radio?"

"Yes, it should be in there."

"Yup, here you go."

While Phil switched on the bulky radio, Clint went through the rest of the gear in the duffle, now in survival mode. There were guns, ammo, a field first aid kit, ropes and climbing gear, a folding shovel, MREs, fire lighting supplies, and an emergency shelter. They both had winter survival training, and if worst came to worst, they could build a snow shelter and gather firewood and be, if not comfortable, then at least safe. It wasn't how Clint had been hoping to spend the next few days, though spending them stuck in the middle of nowhere with Phil was better than... well, better than just about anything else he could think of, actually. 

Phil was having trouble getting a clear signal on the radio - the blizzard was causing interference - but eventually he got through and recited a set of codes that the radio operator would relay to Headquarters, letting someone there know about their predicament. It only took five minutes before the operator was asking Phil to stand by for further instructions, and then Jasper Sitwell's voice came through the tinny, staticky radio.

"Got yourselves stuck in a blizzard I hear," he said.

"Yes. Car died. Have you got a fix on our location?"

"Yep, the operations guys are pulling a map up for me now." There was a low whistle from the speaker. "Wow, you managed to pick just about the most remote spot in the continental US of A."

"We've got survival gear, we'll be okay to bunk down for the night if necessary."

"I hate to tell you this, Phil, but if you bunk down where you are you're gonna be stuck there for three or four days. All the highways in the county are closed. The Governor of Montana is prepared to declare a state of emergency, and Montana knows how to deal with blizzards. They're saying this one could drop over two feet of snow... We're gonna find a way to get you out of there, don't worry. Give me a couple of minutes to see what the operations guys can come up with."

Phil hit the mute button on the radio.

"I don't know what they're going to come up with, there's nothing out here," Phil said.

"Yeah, and they can't ask anyone to fly a chopper or even a Quinjet in this," Clint said, looking out at where the wind was whipping snow past the car window. "I guess we're gonna be here for a few days."

The radio crackled.

"Okay, looks like we can't get a Quinjet to you in this weather, sorry about that."

"That's okay, it's what we figured. We'll just hunker down here and wait out the storm, we'll be fine."

"No you won't - you've got what, a couple of MREs and some basic survival gear? It's gonna be minus fifteen overnight tonight. No, we've pulled up the satellite pictures of the area and we've found a cabin for you."

Phil and Clint both broke into wide smiles at that, a cabin sounded heavenly compared with a snow shelter.

"The only problem is it's about a three mile walk from your location. Two miles back up the road and then a mile into the bush. It's a nice wide trail though, probably an old logging road, you should be able to find it no problem, and we can monitor your position based on the radio signal, to make sure you don't miss it."

"Sounds good. We'll pack up all the gear and head out. I'll get back to you when we're on the road. Out."

~~~~~~

Two hours later, freezing cold and soaked to the skin despite their winter gear, Clint and Phil stumbled through the door of the cabin they'd just jimmied open, and then immediately slammed it shut behind them.

"Okay, next time Jasper says we should walk three miles through a blizzard instead of staying with the car, I'm going to tell him to go fuck himself, just so you know."

Phil ignored Clint's outburst, knowing he didn't really mean it. And to be fair, Phil was feeling pretty cranky as well, but they were here now, out of the snow and out of the wind and this cabin did seem like a better place to spend the next three days. Even if it was a little... small.

It took no time at all to survey the inside of the shelter. 'Cabin' was generous, 'shack' might be a better description. It was about ten-by-twelve, and featured the door they'd just come through, one small window with double glass panes and a couple of layers of translucent plastic stapled over as well, a wood stove and pile of firewood, a card table, and a single cot with a sagging mattress. There were also a few pots and pans, and an oil lamp hanging on the wall, and three ammo boxes piled in the corner. 

"Check the supplies, I'm going to get a fire started," Phil said, opening the door of the woodstove to check it for soundness. Clint had shrugged off the duffle that he'd insisted on carrying and opened it up to hand Phil the canister of matches.

"I'm gonna get the MREs heating first," Clint said. "We both need some hot food."

"Yes. Good. Thank you."

Ten minutes later with a cheerful fire blazing in the stove and their wet clothes gently steaming, Clint and Phil sat side-by-side on the bed in their thermal underwear, eating chili mac out of foil pouches. 

"We've got enough cans of beans and spaghetti-os to last a week, plenty of oil for the lamp, and most importantly, four rolls of toilet paper," Clint said, reporting on what he'd found in the ammo cans.

"We'll have to melt snow for water, and there's not a whole lot of wood. The cabin is good and tight, though, it'll stay warm for quite a while if the stove goes out, so we'll go as easy on the wood as we can, once we've dried out."

They finished eating, and checked in with Headquarters to let Jasper know that they'd found the cabin and would be fine for the duration of the blizzard. That done, Clint looked at Phil and grinned,

"So, poker for matchsticks?"

"Sure, if you found a pack of cards."

Clint's face fell.

"There's got to be a pack of cards, there's always..."

"This isn't a SHIELD safehouse, it's some hunter's cabin. If you didn't find any cards, that means there aren't any."

"No. No cards, no paperbacks, no backgammon board or radio or... anything. Well, that sucks."

They talked about past missions and the best and worst safe-houses they'd ever been stuck in. Then they played memory games for an hour. "I Spy" petered out after 'table, oil lamp, stove, duffle bag, and pot' had all been used. "20 Questions" petered out even faster because Clint kept picking people from popular culture that Phil had never heard of, and Phil kept picked famous people from history that Clint had never heard of. 

"So," Clint said after ten minutes of silence, "Truth or Dare?"

"No."

"C'mon, it'll be fun!"

"No, it won't and no, I'm not playing."

Clint spent the next two hours flicking matchsticks into an empty coffee can. 

"Truth," said Phil, and sighed.

"Ha! Okay, lemme think a minute," Clint said, putting down his matchsticks and cradling his chin in his hands. He was sitting on the floor with his back to the wall of the cabin. Phil was stretched out on the cot. Phil closed his eyes.

"I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

"Okay, so. You're, uh... gay, right?"

"That's your question?"

"Well, I always assumed, but never had the balls to ask you outright, so, yeah. Are you gay?"

"Yes."

"Like, totally gay?"

"Kinsey 5."

"Huh. That must have sucked a lot when you were in the army."

"Pretty much."

"Yeah. I can imagine. I'm bi, by the way."

"I know. It's in your personnel file."

"Oh, right. Um, your turn."

Phil was quiet for a minute, eyes still closed, hands folded behind his head. Clint had asked him about his sexuality. He didn't read anything into that, but it did give him an opening to ask Clint a personal question in return:

"Don't tell me anything she wouldn't want me to know, but you and Natasha?" Phil let the sentence hang, but opened his eyes to see Clint looking straight ahead and nodding as if Phil's not-quite-a-question made perfect sense to him.

"We've shared a bed, but we've never had sex. She offered, once, after a badly fucked-up mission, but... I didn't want to..." Clint sighed, "Nat and I are kinda the closest thing we both have to a family, and I didn't want to fuck that up with sex."

"That's... admirable." Phil said, and Clint shot him a look to see if he was being teased, but Phil meant it with an utter sincerity that showed on his face.

"Thanks," Clint said, "So, my turn?"

"Yes."

"Why don't you date?"

Phil groaned.

"Because I don't have time," he said.

"Bullshit," said Clint. "I'm just as busy as you, away on missions just as often. Crazy schedule, laid up in medical and all that, but I find time to date."

"Random hook-ups with junior agents is not my idea of dating," Phil said, and immediately regretted it.

"Is that what you think of me?" Clint asked quietly, his head down now, staring at the patch of floor between his thighs.

"No, of course not.... I mean.... There's no reason you shouldn't sleep with whoever you want to, I mean you're young and attractive and..." Phil trailed off.

"And what, Phil?" Clint looked at him now, piercing eyes insisting that Phil finish the sentence.

"In demand."

"Yeah. Too bad it's never me they actually want."

"What do you mean?"

"People who want to sleep with me, mostly it's because they think I look buff in my tac suit. They're just looking for a good time, no strings attached. After a while, it gets... lonely."

Clint did look buff in his tac suit, but Phil kept that to himself. Instead he asked,

"Do you want... are you looking for a, um, relationship?"

"I'll answer that if you tell me the real reason why you don't date."

Phil sighed again, let his head drop back on his crossed arms that were serving as a pillow, and stared up at the ceiling.

"I... I got my heart broken. Badly. A long time ago. I tried to date again after that, but it never worked out. Never lasted more than a few months, and with our job, well, you know what it's like after you've cancelled and rescheduled a few times and the excuses get increasingly vague. People don't stick around, and I don't blame them. So after a while, I just kind of gave up."

"Yeah. Yeah, I get that. Sounds lonely."

"I have friends."

"S'not the same though, is it?"

"No, it's not."

"I'd like to have someone," Clint said, his voice soft and kind of wistful, almost as if he'd forgotten that Phil was in the room. "You know, someone who’s going to be there. Not just for sex, though that'd be nice too, but just knowing there's someone there who cares, who's happy to hear your voice when you call, who remembers your birthday and wants to cuddle up to you under the covers on that one rare Sunday morning when you actually get to sleep in...."

"Sounds nice," Phil said, desperately trying to keep his voice even.

"Yeah, well, not going to happen anytime soon, 'cause I haven't found anyone who'll put up with my shit, and I can't really blame them."

Phil wanted to argue, to say that Clint brightened his days and would be very welcome to share his nights... but he couldn't bring himself to. Instead he was quiet, listening to the wind whistling outside the cabin, and the soft crackling of the wood stove. After a bit he said,

"We should get some sleep."

"Yeah, I guess. Um, any thoughts on sleeping arrangements?"

They'd found one moth-eaten sleeping bag and had the reflective blankets from the emergency gear.

"It won't be the first time we've shared a bed," Phil said mildly, opening his eyes and glancing at Clint to gauge his reaction.

"Yeah, okay. Usually they're bigger, but at least it'll be warm." 

"Yes, I'll bank the fire for the night, instead of putting more wood on, and we'll let it burn down. It might go out, but we can always light it again in the morning, or if we wake up freezing cold." Phil talked logistics to distract himself from the nervousness he was feeling about the prospect of cuddling up to Clint on the cot. 

Clint offered to go out and refill the pots with snow to melt for water, 'Since I need to piss anyway.' While he was outside Phil banked the stove, sorted out the bedding, and then lit a single candle and blew out the oil lamp. Clint came back into the cabin, shivering and stamping the snow off his half-tied boots. He put the pots near the stove and then shook the snow out of his hair like a dog. 

"I can see why Jasper told us to make for this cabin, it's fucking nasty out there. We're going to be here for days, Phil."

Phil didn't have anything to say to that, so he just held up one side of the unzipped sleeping bag in invitation. Clint's smile was unaccountably shy, and he ducked his head to kick off his boots before sitting gingerly on the cot to make sure it would hold their combined weight before climbing in. It creaked, but seemed solid enough, so he swung his legs up and settled down, back to back with Phil.

Phil was still, and his breathing was even, but Clint knew he wasn't asleep. Clint could feel the slight tension in Phil's back and shoulders where they pressed up against his on the narrow cot. Clint closed his eyes, and tried to relax. Tried to let himself drift off, but something, either the day they'd had or the storm or the conversation he'd just had with Phil or the fact that his feet were freezing... sleep was a long way off. And his feet were fucking freezing. He considered getting up to get his socks from where they were drying by the stove. Even if they were still damp, they'd at least be warm and damp. He tried not to shiver.

"Are you cold?" Phil's voice was soft in the dark.

"Yeah, a little. My feet got wet when I went out."

"Okay, just a sec." Phil shifted and wriggled and Clint knew he was trying hard to move without putting an elbow into Clint's eye socket. Eventually he settled back down and Clint felt Phil's warmth pressing up against his back, snuggling close spoon-style. Then one of Phil's arms curled around his chest and pulled him even closer. "Is that better?"

"Yeah, that's... thanks Phil."

"No problem."

Still, sleep wouldn't come. Being snuggled up with Phil like this felt so good, so right, Clint wanted to say something, to ask something, to find out if maybe.... maybe... Finally, he whispered one word into the night,

"Truth."

Phil was quiet for a long time. So long that Clint thought maybe he was asleep after all.

He wasn't. He was thinking. He wanted this. He wanted Clint. And he'd got to the point, here, on this cot, in this cabin, in this snow storm, that knowing was finally more important that wanting. He rejected six different ways of asking before he finally came up with:

"What am I to you?"

He felt Clint's breath hitch, and stopped himself from clutching Clint tighter, closer.

"I'm no good with words, Phil, you know that. Especially words for feelings." There was a pause and Phil wondered if that was all the answer he was going to get, but then Clint struggled on "I... You're... you're my... everything. Phil, you're my everything."

Phil did hold him closer then, so close that Clint could feel Phil's lips move on the back of his neck when Phil whispered,

"Truth."

"Phil? I'm gonna roll over, okay?"

"Sure."

Again the struggle to roll over on the narrow cot without bashing something tender, but Clint was graceful and coordinated and managed with only a minimum of struggle. Once he'd settled, the tip of his nose an inch from Phil's, their feet still tangled together for warmth, Clint looked into Phil's eyes and almost lost his nerve. Phil must have known somehow, because he put one hand on Clint's flank, resting it there warmly, the ball of his thumb moving back and forth in tiny increments.

"What..." Clint's voice cracked and he had to suck in a breath and start again. "What do you want?"

"Everything. I want everything, Clint."

They were still dancing around each other, both still afraid of coming right out and saying... 'Maybe,' Clint thought, as Phil's thumb continued to move making tiny little rubbing motions over Clint's ribs. 'Maybe words aren't all they're cracked up to be.'

"Dare," he said.

Phil looked at him. Took one long breath in and out. Another. A third.

"Kiss me," he said.

Clint hitched himself an inch closer. He put his free arm around Phil's waist, sliding his palm up Phil's spine. Slowly, carefully, he closed the distance between them and touched his lips to Phil's. 

The earth didn't move. Angels didn't sing. They almost, but didn't quite, bump noses. But Clint adjusted, moved in even closer, and tried again. This time it was right. It was good. It felt... it felt a million times better than Clint had ever imagined it could, because in all his imaginings, in all his late-night longings, he'd never been able to imagine what it would feel like to have Phil kissing him back. It felt... perfect.

~~~~~~

"What do you mean you're not sure?" Fury was looking from Natasha to Jasper, clearly displeased.

"Well, they both seem happier," Nat said, as if that should satisfy him.

"More relaxed," added Jasper, nodding.

"More relaxed as in, 'I just got laid,' or more relaxed as in 'I just had three days away from my desk and my paperwork and my boss and my annoying colleagues?' " Fury said in a quiet voice that both Nat and Jasper had the intelligence and experience to be very wary of.

"Um..." said Jasper.

"Find out!" Fury said, not quite shouting. "I don't care if you call in a favor or get them drunk or jab them with truth serum. Just find out if this entire clusterfuck of an operation to get two of my best agents laid actually worked."

"Right," said Nat, standing. She'd been given orders to interrogate Clint, she was going to carry them out. Simple.

"Um..." said Jasper.

"Get out of my office."

~~~~~~

"So, hey, I heard that mission in Montana turned out to be a wash." Nat caught up to Clint who was striding purposefully down a corridor.

"Hey, you're back from Kiev, how was that?" Clint grinned as Nat caught up with him.

"Also a wash, but at least I didn't get stuck in a cabin in a snowstorm for three days."

"News travels fast."

"You must have been bored out of your skull."

"It wasn't too bad, actually. Phil and I..."

"Phil?"

"Oh, um..." Clint's ears went red and Nat went in for the kill, crowding him against the wall of the corridor.

"Tell me."

"Well, we kinda got to talking. Um... about stuff. And well, it turns out you were right all along, about him being interested in me, I mean."

"I'm always right. One day you will learn this."

"Yeah, well..."

"So, spill."

"What do you mean?"

"Was it good?"

"Was what good?"

"Clint Barton, please pay very close attention because this is the first, last and only time I'm am going to want to hear about your sex life. Was. It. Good?"

"Oh," Clint's ears went from pink to red and the blush spread down his neck. "We, uh, didn't actually... You know. Yet."

"You didn't."

Clint shook his head, still blushing.

"You were stuck in a cabin in a snowstorm for three days with nothing to do, you finally, finally, admit that you want each other, but you don't have sex? What the hell is wrong with both of you?"

"Well, it was... there was just this tiny narrow cot, and a smelly old sleeping bag, and a couple of foil emergency blankets, and we thought, after all this time, y'know, we thought it would be nicer if we waited until we had a real bed and clean sheets and a hot shower and access to take out and stuff like that."

"Nicer."

"Yeah."

"So you haven't had sex, but you're planning to, soon?"

"Uh, yeah. Phil... uh, Coulson is on his way to Fury's office to ask for some time off for both of us. Just a couple of days, we thought we'd take a long weekend and hole up in Phil apartment."

"Coulson's talking to Fury."

"Uh, yeah. Look, Nat, I was on my way to my quarters to pack some stuff. Phil seemed pretty sure that Fury was going to say 'yes' so I was supposed to meet him downstairs in fifteen minutes..."

"Of course. Don't let me keep you." Nat backed off, with a smile that made Clint even more nervous that he already was. He edged his way back into the corridor and turned towards his quarters. "And Clint," He stopped and looked over his shoulder at Nat, who was smiling a small, genuine smile now. "Have a good weekend."

"Thanks, Nat. I'm, uh... pretty sure I will."

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr at: [Queen of Wands](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/)


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